


And why mess up a good thing, baby?

by mizuirokandeya



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also: Twitter happens during some parts of this, Alternate Universe, And fluff and Christmas Cheer, M/M, other characters are mentioned but don't really get screen time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28018053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizuirokandeya/pseuds/mizuirokandeya
Summary: So Dean’s been the sole operator of this train for years now and knows by now that the only way to avoid being stupid about that mess, is by doing something even stupider. And what's stopping him this time?Nothing, exactly.He's typed out a new tweet and tweets it without a second thought.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 48
Kudos: 282
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	And why mess up a good thing, baby?

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](https://heller-jensen.tumblr.com/post/635695262817550336/deans-laying-illuminated-by-the-light-of-his) Tumblr post.
> 
> Some parts of the story are only included as screenshots of tweets and DMs. Here's a [link](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1YujZPO6micMnnv59RcK0_kjFnxpYJFmZJ03lztdT_rI/edit?usp=sharing) to a version with text instead.
> 
> Title from the song "Sleeping with a friend" by Neon Trees

_Friday, 18th December 2020  
_  
Dean's drunk.  
  
Well, not drunk, drunk. But heavily buzzed and floaty in all the right ways. He's moved from the living room to his bed a while ago - he's getting too old to spend whole nights on his crappy sofa. His drink is sitting mostly untouched on the nightstand because he's been too busy laughing his way through his Twitter timeline - only filled with high-quality tweets, mind you, and fuck, he still needs to figure out how to be this fucking hilarious in so little characters - and it's just the best.  
  
Except then he scrolls down further and a tweet from Eileen pops up. A picture of Sam and her kissing, Christmas decorations and a stupid self-made advent calendar behind them. It's so domestic it hurts and the caption "There's a surprise hidden here!!!" makes him roll his eyes a little. Because obviously it's her poorly hidden pregnancy belly. And why do they have to be so disgustingly sweet?  
  
Though one part of his brain reminds him that both of them deserve it and that he actually is kind of excited because he'll be an uncle and he'll most definitely be the coolest uncle.  
  
The other part just kind of wants to cry. Or yell.  
  
He rolls onto his back, frowns, and presses his phone against his chest making the room go dark. The floaty feeling from before is gone, replaced with the all too familiar feeling of something he hasn't managed to place beyond just feeling shitty and lonely. He's been feeling it a lot lately. Even more so during the last few months - Thanksgiving, being told about the baby, Christmas parties. It's all just been a lot of friends and family and being surrounded by happy faces. But it left him feeling off more often than not, following him into the darkness of the night, when he'd be on his own again. When he couldn't even pretend that there's someone there to keep his mind occupied.  
  
Alcohol usually makes it worse. Drags his mood further and makes him into an even more obnoxious version of himself. But then it also makes the feeling go away for a while and makes falling asleep without his thoughts running in circles so, so much easier. He just has to get there first.  
  
He picks up his phone again, blinks against the bright light, and unlocks it. He's again greeted by the picture and it still tugs at his heart in the worst way. He forces a smile onto his face though and the longer he stares at it, the more genuine it becomes. He is happy for them. Really. So he likes it and adds "Hell yeah!!!!" as a comment because that's what he should be doing. Except there's still that pit of loneliness in his stomach and this longing. He bites his lip.  
  
He keeps scrolling but even Charlie's throwback tweets about meeting some actress at a convention and some pretty fantastic – read hot – pictures from it, can't pick up his mood. Especially not when he sees the last picture where it's not just Charlie but Charlie and Stevie being just as disgustingly sweet with each other as his brother and Eileen. It's just not fair.  
  
"Oh come on," he groans, rubs his eyes. His whole damn life he couldn't have cared less. He was content. Honestly not being in a relationship was easier. For him. For his non-existent partner. For his fucking heart because it wouldn't even be fully in it. But apparently, he's gone soft with getting older because lately he just wants. He wants to have a part of the happy-couple-pie everybody else seems to be eating. Wants to go to bed with someone. Wants to wake up with them. Wants to share early morning walks with Miracle. Wants to cook for someone else. Wants the silence in his home to be filled by more than just him and the space around him with conversation and humming. Wants the casual intimacy that only comes with having years' worth of getting to know each other.  
  
He's sure that if he really wanted to, if he tried just a little, he could find someone, could work at having this with someone. Even if just partially.  
  
But then there are two problems it all starts and ends with.  
  
The fact that he's not quite sure where to start because flirting with strangers at bars hasn't been the most appealing for a while now and he kind of burned his fingers with online dating. And then the fact that he's already very emotionally attached to someone and every name- and faceless domestic fantasy he indulges in, ends with clear blue eyes, a deep voice, and Cas.  
  
It's a road he usually does not go down, tries to avoid at all cost because what good does pining over his best friend ever do? Nothing. That's the answer. Always has been, always will be. Sure he's had a few moments where he considered doing something about it, thought hard about taking action, and then threw it back into the pits of hell because why would he when everything was fine. This way he has Cas. Every other way he might not.  
  
So he's been the sole operator of this train for years now and knows by now that the only way to avoid being stupid about that mess, is by doing something even stupider. And what's stopping him this time?  
  
Nothing, exactly.  
  
He's typed out a new tweet and tweets it without a second thought. 

It stares back at him in stark white letters on the black background of his feed. It looks garish and weird and in a sudden bout of vulnerability he hastily closes the app and turns off his phone. 

  
He's not out per se. He's sure everybody he's close with knows or has at least an inkling that he's not just into women but into men as well and that he's had quite a bit of fun with them. And sure the random strangers on Twitter that follow him, might have caught on a little as well – he sometimes forgets how to keep himself in check – but still. He doesn't boast it to the world, that hell yeah, to him men and women are equally as hot and he's been in love with his gay best friend for the past – what 8 years now? (God he's such a disaster.) After all, his idiotic and out of luck love life is his business and his business only.  
  
With a grunt, Dean forces himself up, reaches for the glass of whiskey on the nightstand, and downs it.  
  
He's too fucking sober.  
  


* * *

_  
Saturday, 19th December 2020  
  
_Waking up is an experience. Mostly one of a slightly spinning room and feeling like something died in his mouth. His phone is smushed uncomfortably against his neck and the air feels too hot and he definitely hasn't slept more than a few hours. There's the comforting presence of Miracle pressed along his legs and he moves enough to scratch whatever part of her he can reach - he guesses her back but in the end, all he can focus on is fur. Soft, warm fur. Kind of makes him want to move around and bury his face in it. But then again moving sounds far too exhausting.  
  
He forces his eyes open while fishing for his phone underneath himself. For a split second he's confused why it won't turn on, then remembers actively shutting it off.  
  
And why he did that.  
  
He's completely awake in a second, trying to stare his phone into starting up quicker but still, he has to lie there and wait. Wait until he can punch in his password - wrong the first two tries, correct on the third - and then it basically explodes, spews at least twenty new notifications at him, and right there at the top a name he's so familiar with that his heart lodges itself in his throat, makes it hard to swallow and think.  
  
The notice that Beekeeper Cas (adorned by a flower and a bee because Cas could for the love of God not be talked out of it) has sent him a DM, taunts him and he can see that there's a link in the preview but it takes all the courage he has to open the message and click on it.  
  
Because as far as he knows Cas (and he considers it to be fairly well) it could be either the most random meme from the internet that he couldn't figure out how to save and then find again on his phone to actually post it instead of a link, or the most in detail article about how it's scientifically proven that people feel lonelier during December and how he shouldn't feel bad about that.  
  
It's neither.  
  
The link is to a document. A big ass document that takes a while to load.  
  
But when it does Dean can only stare at it and blink before his voice kicks in. "Son of a bitch!”  
  
His exclamation startles Miracle, who jumps from the bed in a flurry and then looks at him, all confusion and puppy-dog eyes.  
  
And all Dean can do is start laughing.  
  
This can't be real.  
  
________  
  
**Application for the position as Dean Winchester's boyfriend  
  
**Dear Mr. Dean Winchester,  
  
I saw your tweet tonight and found myself to be a good fit for the position. As you know from numerous conversations, I am able to provide both the boy and friend part.  
  
I am of low maintenance, don't require constant attention, and am able to take care of myself. I am moderately good looking and have learned one or two things you might enjoy during sexual intercourse. I've also spent a lot of time in the past years secretly improving my pie baking skills and have added rated reference pictures. I might have become a passable cook as well.  
  
Furthermore, I think my having stuck with you for years already is quite enough to qualify me for the position.  
  
On top of that Miracle loves me.  
  
I'm looking forward to hearing from you soon.  
  
Kind regards  
Castiel Novak  
  
Encl.  
Pictures of myself  
Pictures of us for prove of friendship  
Pictures of pie I baked, rated, and ranked  
A huge "I miss you"  
  
________  
  
Dean cries.  
  
Once his initial laughter subsides - because this has to be a joke, right? - he cries. He's halfway through this stupid, actual application with an idea and actual thought put into it, when he's just overwhelmed by the feeling of missing Cas. And god it hasn't even been two weeks since they last saw each other, hell they talked on the phone last week even. But he just misses having him around, having somebody that humours him and his random bouts of excitement about movies and cowboys and Miracle being finally able to give paw. He just misses him so damn much that he has to breathe for a second before he can continue.  
  
Still, the feeling makes itself at home in his stomach through all thirty (thirty!) fucking pages of pictures of Cas, them, a whole lot of pie that he's mad he never got to try. It sits there heavy, makes him bite his lip hard enough to hurt, hard enough to starve off the tears.  
  
He gives himself five seconds to breathe before he presses the home button on his phone and then selects his contacts. He doesn't have to look far, Cas sits right at the top of the list, and he hits the call button without thinking.  
  
He stumbles out of bed while he presses the phone to his ear, listens to it ringing. It goes to voicemail but he hangs up and calls again before it can so much as start rattling off Cas's message. And while he lets Miracle out of his bedroom, follows her to the backdoor, all of his insides pull tighter and tighter, only to explode when there's a click on the line and then a familiar gruff, "Hello?"  
  
The sudden bout of excitement over hearing his voice, makes him forget for a second why he called and he can't swallow down a teasing, "Well good morning, sunshine."  
  
It takes a second for him to get an answer and he licks his lips, lets Miracle outside, and watches her press her nose to the ground, picking up the scent of something and then following it into the darkness.  
  
"Dean. It's five in the morning. On a Saturday."  
  
"Is it now?" He knows he should feel a little guilty but he finds that he doesn't actually care for waking Cas up. "Tell me, how drunk were you last night?"  
  
"Why would I have been drunk?" He sounds genuinely confused, seeming to slowly wake up fully, and Dean breathes in, waits for the other shoe to drop. It takes a little too long for his taste. "You mean- I deleted that message."  
  
"Maybe for yourself. I could read it just fine."  
  
Yipping from behind the door nearly covers Cas's sharp inhale. "Dean."  
  
"It's okay." He pulls open the door far enough to let Miracle back inside, walks with her into the living room. The Christmas tree in the corner is lighting the room up enough for him to be able to see and he sinks down onto the couch.  
  
"It's not."  
  
"Cas, I...," he trails off not sure where his sentence was supposed to go. He could, if he wanted to, say exactly what's on his mind. But the words stick to his throat, the thought of this being just a good-natured joke weighing them down. Maybe he should have thought this through before blindly calling. Before being rash and hasty and not smart about this. "I appreciate that you're on your way to becoming a pie specialist just for me."  
  
Silence.  
  
"I miss you, too, you know." The words burst out of him in a rush, despite everything else settling heavily in his stomach. And they take all air with them and only when Cas says, "I'll be home for Christmas." a few beats later, does he breathe back in.  
  
"Good. That's good. I mean I knew that. But it's good to hear. How's your work thing going anyway?" And god no, that is so not what he wants to say, where he wants this conversation to go. They need to talk, to talk about this seriously, even if he doesn't want to. He needs to not veer off-script within minutes. Every. Damn. Time.  
  
"It's fine. Very interesting but I don't think I'll be able to use much of my newly collected knowledge for my work."  
  
The moment is gone. Ruined again by Dean himself. But it's fine. Really. What was he thinking? "Well cheer up there are only a few days left until you get to enjoy some time off. And maybe after that, the inspiration will hit."   
  
"Right." Another pause on his end. "Can I go back to sleep now?"  
  
"Oh yeah of course." He laughs and rubs his neck. "Sorry, man. I didn't think-"  
  
"It's fine, Dean," he says and then a little softer, "I really don't mind."  
  
"So I'm allowed to call you in the middle of the night then?"  
  
And oh, there it is. A warm and familiar chuckle, no anger, no awkwardness, and Dean feels the leftover tension fall off of him at once. "During the weekends, yes."  
  
He smiles. "I'll hold you to that. Good night, Cas."  
  
"Good night, Dean."  
  
The line clicks and then it's just him and his thoughts again. Surprisingly, he feels a little lighter now and the twinkling Christmas lights on the tree put an even bigger smile on his face.  
  
There are only five days left until Christmas.  
  
________  
  
He naps for a few more hours on the couch until Miracle licks through his face, demanding her morning walk and he has to give in and get up.  
  
The air outside is cold and dewy, clinging to his clothes and making him burrow deeper into the collar of his coat. It's just dawning and most people are still tucked away in their homes, warding themselves against the cold. At some point Dean snaps a picture of the fog swallowing up the lake, to post it to his timeline.

He read the other replies to his tweet during his coffee earlier. All of them were taking it with humor, including a sexual innuendo or two and it made him feel half as bad for posting it and less embarrassed about being so openly weak and needy for once. Hell, he's allowed to joke about this if he wants to and what's going on behind the scenes between Cas and him? Nobody's business but theirs. He's learned how to keep up a front of everything being just fine.

  
Not that anything is going on.  
  
He whistles once, Miracle's brightly glowing collar appearing from behind a bush and eyes staring him down for a few seconds. When he doesn't whistle again, she returns to snooping through the underbrush. With a sigh, Dean follows the path further into the desolate park.   
  
He's not one for talking about his feelings. Hell, he can count the people he has actually talked to - honestly and without being drunk - on both hands. There's Sam, of course, then Charlie during a late night binge-watch session, Bobby on a few rare occasions, his mother and Cas of course. And Miracle. He talks to her a lot. And by a lot, he really means all the damn time. Even about things he never told anybody else and hasn't yet wrapped his head around completely. And hey, he was pretty proud of himself when he managed to admit out loud that he liked Cas. Even if it was just to the audience of Miracle.  
  
His phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out due to habit, stumbles immediately over the new notification from Twitter telling him that Cas not only liked his tweet but also replied with "Done and done."

Publicly.

And well that hits a little differently, doesn't it? Because trying (and failing) to delete last night's message was one thing but Cas openly replying to his second post with a confirmation like that is a whole different story. A "We seriously need to talk about this" kind of story.

Tonight. Not in the bright light of day but rather under the protection of the dark with only the dim light of Christmas in his home.

For now, Dean just likes his reply and continues walking.

________

Dean doesn't get a response and for a few seconds, he considers calling him right then and there. But he takes a moment to breathe, reminds himself how that went last night and that he should just listen to other people sometimes. Whatever it is, he'll get it out of him. Even if this is Cas or rather especially because of this being Cas. He can deal with being anxious about this for a few more hours.

  
________  
  
He's on the third variant of cookies when his phone rings, Cas's smiling face replacing the recipe on the screen.  
  
Dean's been dilly-dallying around all day, rummaging through cupboards all over the house and looking for something to do to keep his hands busy and his mind even busier. He finally settled on baking cookies. After all, it's his turn to host their Christmas potluck dinner and he might as well get started on some preparations - it's not like he has that much time left.  
  
But baking cookies turned into searching for the recipes, turned into buying groceries, and turned into cleaning the kitchen beforehand just because. So he didn't realize how much time had actually passed.  
  
He throws a glance at the clock - nearly eleven pm - and then stares at his hands, covered in a mixture of dough and flour.  
  
"Son of a bitch," he mumbles. He tries accepting the call with his elbow but gives up after a few hopeless tries, too worried about Cas hanging up to care any longer about keeping his phone clean. So accepting the call leaves a smear of flour, joined by a very visible fingerprint from turning it to speaker. "Cas, hey."  
  
"Hello, Dean." There's some rustling on his side, the static of wind hitting the speaker before it gets a little quieter again. He can hear a car horn in the background.  
  
His "I thought you'd text me?" comes out a little too breathless. Because if Cas's still outside - probably walking back to his hotel - it means he called as soon as he got away from whatever he was doing this evening. His heart may skip a beat at that thought. Traitor.  
  
"I decided that I might as well call. Seeing as you were probably waiting by the phone anyway."  
  
"Well, maybe you should have considered that I might be busy. Because I am."  
  
"Oh." A pause, more rustling. "Should I call back later?"  
  
"Cas, I was joking."  
  
"Right. Of course, you were."  
  
Dean chuckles, wiping off his phone, and then goes back to working the dough over. It's a good distraction, keeps him from getting anxious. "So…"  
  
Cas hums on his end of the line and then he finally must reach his hotel room, because the background noise stops completely, leaving just some quiet sniffling and the rustling of probably a coat and scarf being taken off. The vivid image of his flushed cheeks and wind-ruffled hair, make Dean press his hands into the dough a little harder.  
  
"Am I allowed to ask now what you were up to?"  
  
"Nothing big. Just had some things to finish up."  
  
He considers it for a minute. There aren't many options this close to Christmas. "Last minute gift shopping?"  
  
A sigh on the other end and Dean can practically hear him roll his eyes. "I am a little more organized than you, thank you very much."  
  
"Excuse me? I have had all my gifts for a while now."  
  
"Even mine?"  
  
"Yes." It comes out way too petulant and from Cas's laugh he knows, he's convincing nobody. So what if he struggles buying gifts for Cas if they are for specific occasions? It's not his fault that he just has no impulse control and simply gives things to Cas whenever he sees or thinks about something that he's sure he'd like. Gifts are just a thing all year round for him. Why wait for Christmas or a birthday? The only downside is that he often draws a blank when he actually should be giving him presents. "I still have a few days left."  
  
"I don't mind, you know, not getting anything." Cas clears his throat. "Being able to celebrate Christmas with you is enough."  
  
Dean swallows, not sure what to say. So he picks up the rolling pin, flattening out the dough, burning a hole into it with his eyes. And Cas doesn't say anything either. The silence becomes heavy with unsaid words and an uncomfortable tension that's not supposed to be there. Not like this. Never this pregnant with everything, a potential to ruin things, to make things better, to get it all out in the open. Usually, there's just one-sided pining for him and a none the wiser Cas. That tweet, that application, are in both their heads, very much present, very much distracting. He really should tell him.  
  
When he starts using the cookie cutters, pressing them into the dough and picking the shapes up to place them on the baking sheet, Dean decides to break the silence.  
  
"Did you want to delete it because it was a joke?"  
  
Cas's reply is immediate, "It wasn't." Then almost too quiet, "I'd never do that."  
  
The cookie he's trying to pick up gets smushed under his fumbling fingers and he hangs his head, presses his lips together. Tries to not just burst out and say it. It's not the place and not even close to the right time. He's just overly emotional, because of this whole thing, a severe lack of sleep, too much fresh air, and not enough substantial food besides raw cookie dough. He has to think about this rationally. Not joking, still doesn't mean that he meant it like that. Like Dean would have meant it. There's just no way.  
  
"I wasn't actually busy tonight," Cas says, voice soft. "I just went to look at Christmas lights. They always remind me of you and after last night I just wanted to not feel so lonely."  
  
"Cas."  
  
"It's okay. I'm feeling better now." His voice hitches a little, starting to sound suspiciously shaky, despite his words.  
  
The only thing Dean can think of to say, to make it go away is, "Will you stay the night with me? On Christmas Eve?" And when Cas doesn't immediately answer he continues hastily, "I mean you'd come by on the 25th again anyway. And I'm sure Jack will be fine driving back to Kelly's on his own. Or we could drive him if you don't want him on the roads alone. Or Kelly could join us for dinner, too. I know she usually helps out around town on the 24th but maybe she'll want to swing by to-"  
  
"I'd love that." And yeah. He definitely just brought his best friend, the man he's fucking in love with, to tears. Real fucking smooth.  
  
"Okay. Good. Great." He bumps into the baking sheet and it bangs loudly into the backsplash. He makes a face.  
  
"Everything okay?"  
  
"Yeah. Just uh backing cookies. For the potluck." His voice is still tripping over itself in his haste to bring out the words. To say something to make this better.  
  
"Jack's favorites?"  
  
"Of course. When are you picking him up at the airport again?"  
  
"23rd around noon. We should be home around 10."  
  
"Okay. That's good. Text me when you get there. Or call. Whatever you want."  
  
"I will."  
  
"Good." Again silence settles over them but this time it feels less daunting, more comfortable. And after a while, Cas begins talking again, starts telling him about the last few days, how he visited so many interesting gardens and learned so many new things. Dean responds when needed, keeps working on the cookies and otherwise, he just listens, lets Cas tell him all about plants, birds, and insects with slowly but surely increasing enthusiasm. There's this little lilt in his voice and just knowing that he's this happy again, lightens Dean's heart. He skips the clean-up for today. Goes for settling on his sofa, next to Miracle, after the final cookies are out of the oven. She opens her eyes and wags her tail a little when he scratches her back but otherwise doesn't move.  
  
The conversation flows normally then and only when Cas pauses in the middle of a sentence, yawing loudly, does Dean even bother glancing at his watch. It's nearly two am.  
  
"I should let you sleep."  
  
"I don't want to," Cas grumbles. "That'd mean tomorrow's Monday."  
  
"Yes, that's usually how time works. Technically Monday already is tomorrow. And we both need to work."  
  
"Smartass." There's no real bite behind the word. "At least go to bed with me."  
  
Dean feels his throat dry up at the image it conjures up in his mind. He clear his throat, tries to not sound too excited over the idea of falling asleep to Cas's voice. "You want us to brush our teeth together over the phone? Sounds kind of lame if you ask me, man."  
  
It doesn't. It sounds exactly like the kind of disgusting domestic stuff he wants to do with him. Like the stuff that could fill the pit of longing and loneliness in his stomach.  
  
"Well we can't exactly do it side by side right now, can we? And we've done less interesting things together."  
  
"True. Just...I'm going to leave you in my bedroom. Don't need you to listen to me pee." Dean gets up and stretches, lets Cas laugh wash over him. His sofa is comfortable but his bed, while short one specific person according to his imagination, will be much more comfortable.  
  
"Sure. Ten minutes enough?"  
  
"I think I can manage that."   
  
"Right." There's some rustling and then the dull thud of the phone being placed down.   
  
Dean clicks his tongue at Miracle and she lifts her head up, looks lazily at him. "Wanna come with me?"  
  
She doesn't budge when he goes to his bedroom but he knows she'll follow soon enough, preferring the spaciousness of his bed and stealing his ability to move over being alone. He places his phone on the nightstand, plugs it in, and starts pulling off his clothes, dropping them into the corner next to his dresser. He can clean up tomorrow.  
  
He's in bed within seven minutes - not that he's keeping track - only the dim light of his phone lighting up the room and Miracle does come to join him within the few more minutes it takes Cas to come back to the phone. She patiently waits for Dean's explicit invitation and then jumps up onto the bed once it's given, curls up directly behind his knees. He scratches her head while he waits, the phone pressed to his ear already.  
  
"Dean?"  
  
"Right here." He keeps his voice low, the dark and quiet of his surroundings seemingly expecting it of him.  
  
There's the loud rustling of sheets followed by a content groan from Cas. "I miss my own bed."  
  
"I bet."  
  
"It's much more comfortable than this one."  
  
"Only two more nights after this one left."  
  
"And then I get one night in my bed before I'll have to sleep on your sucky couch. Really, it's amazing what I do for you. And on Christmas nonetheless."  
  
"Oh don't be like that, you love me." The words slip out, all teasing fun but then Dean realizes what he said. He freezes, his breath catching in his chest. Normally this would have been fine, said in jest during their usual banter. But tonight, in the darkness of his bedroom, last night's talk, and the application still hanging over them, it feels like teetering on the edge of too much, too soon, too close to their hearts. He opens his mouth, tries to apologize, and say he didn't mean to say it like that but Cas beats him to it.  
  
"Yeah, I do," he breathes, barely audible.   
  
"Cas." It's all Dean can say. It feels like a warning, like a 'please don't do this to me.' Because for a moment there, he feels like maybe he misunderstood, that he's getting this wrong, that Cas is just talking about this as family, as friends but then he actually says it.  
  
"I love you, Dean." He sounds elated like he can't believe he actually said it and Dean feels like he's having a heart attack while simultaneously living one of his wildest fantasies. Cas, not the slightest idea of how Dean's feeling, continues, "I really do. I just- I wasn't sure how to tell you. And then you posted that tweet and god, Dean. I got so scared for a moment that I wouldn't get to tell you at all, that you'd find someone and I wouldn't have the option anymore. And I couldn't do that. I couldn't stay quiet. I just need you to know, what you mean to me. I don't care anymore if you don't like me like that. I'm glad I finally get to tell you."  
  
Dean breaks, sees no use in keeping quiet any longer. "Me, too. I-" his voice cracks, "I love you, too."  
  
Silence. Then, "Wait, what?"  
  
"You heard me, Cas." His laugh comes out more like a sob and holy shit when did he even start to cry?  
  
"Of course I did, I just-" he breaks off and Dean knows for certain the face he's making. It's the one that always graces his features whenever he figures out Dean's jokes too late, whenever he just misses the point and tries explaining something that shouldn't be explained. The one where he tilts his face, brows furrowed and mouth slightly open. Dean loves that face. "Oh."  
  
"Sounds about right."  
  
And now Cas starts laughing, wet and broken but happy and Dean feels a warmth bloom in his chest. Who would have thought that being stupid, would turn out to be the smart choice for once in his goddamn life? Certainly not him.  
  
"This is the second time you made me cry today, Dean. I don't appreciate it."  
  
"Well, I'd say I'm sorry but I'm not."  
  
"Ass."  
  
"I know."  
  
They bask in the silence for a moment, only broken by both of them still sniffling from time to time. Really though, two grown-ass men crying during their own love confession, if that isn't a chick-flick-moment if Dean has ever seen one. None of their friends will ever let them live this down when they'll hear it. He really doesn't care. Maybe he shouldn't get ahead of himself though. "Cas?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What does this make us?"  
  
"Well, what do you want us to be?"  
  
And that's really what it boils down to, isn't it? What Dean wants. Not Cas or both of them but first and foremost just him. Because Cas is comfortable with who he is, with who he loves. And Dean is not. Not always. He's the one not completely out, the one that only ever brought women home to his family and got touchy and kissed them in other people's spaces. But never a man, those he kept to himself even when people knew, like a badly kept secret. But that's not what he wants this to be. It's not what Cas deserves. Cas deserves…  
  
"Everything," he whispers, presses his eyes shut and the phone closer to his ear as if it'll somehow make Cas be closer. "I want us to be everything."  
  
"Then let's start with talking about this face to face. On the 24th?" Dean can hear the smile, the happiness so clearly in his voice and it makes him want to be there, see it on his face. He wants to see that blinding smile and how he flushes, when they talk about a new version of them, a boyfriend version. One that gets to touch unashamedly and openly, one that actually gets to kiss, and oh.  
  
He swallows, trying to force down the warmth rising in his cheeks. "Okay."  
  
"Okay."  
  
And that's all they say for the rest of the night. Just staying on the phone until they fall asleep, listening to each other breathing.  
  


* * *

_Sunday, 20th December  
  
_It takes Dean a while – three coffees to be exact – to properly get going that morning. He's tired, so damn tired and when he had charged his phone enough to turn it back on, he could see that the call had lasted until 4:27 am. Though he doesn't know when they fell asleep it's still way too long and explains completely why he's this whacked.  
  
The only thing that gets him through the day and cleaning the whole damn house in preparation for the 24th is the high that hits him whenever he thinks about Cas saying, "I love you." It's a novelty and he can't wait to see him, to hear it directly said to him, not through phone, not implied through written words. But just directly face to face. Maybe even a kiss or two? Hell, he's on cloud nine and he won't for a second pretend he isn't.  
  
Honestly, he hasn't been this excited for Christmas in years.  
  


* * *

_Monday, 21st December  
  
_Work on Monday is difficult.  
  
Not because of the cars Dean has to take care of but because he can't quite focus and it's messing with him and whenever he's left alone with his thoughts for too long, there's suddenly a smile on his face and he just wants to not be here anymore.  
  
"So what drugs are you on today?" Bobby says when he catches him the third time with his head under a hood, not doing anything productive and a huge smile on his face.   
  
Dean flinches, bumps his head a little. He scowls at Bobby and continues working. "I didn't take anything, don't worry."  
  
Bobby doesn't respond and Dean's pretty sure he's off the hook. For now at least. He's got to be a little more careful. But it's not really his fault, is it now? Cas loves him. He's already smiling again.  
  
"You in love, kid?"  
  
Dean full on knocks into the hood, with how hastily he scrambles upright. There's the immediate sting of tears in his eyes and he makes a choked off noise. His face feels on fire all of a sudden and he knows he looks like a deer caught in the headlights. He can't even bring himself to lie and deny it.  
  
Bobby laughs loudly, says, "Good for you. Just remember to bring them round some time," and then leaves him standing there.  
  
Dean just looks after him, can't quite believe this. His head throbs uncomfortably and when he reaches his hand to the back of his head it comes back a little bloody but not enough to be worrisome. Just a scratch that will accompany the headache he can already feel starting.  
  
And then it hits him. This was Bobby. This was half a day spent at work, with them busy and at different ends of the garage. Not close, not talking much. Yet he still noticed that something was up.  
  
Dean swallows hard. How the hell is he supposed to spend a whole evening, surrounded by friends and family and most importantly with Cas right there, probably right next to him, and have nobody notice that anything is up? Especially when he just really wants to talk to Cas first before anybody else butts in. And that talk won't happen until everybody is long gone after dinner. He's certain of that because he doesn't want there to be a need to rush.  
  
He's screwed.  
  
He reaches for a rag and cleans his hands before he sneaks off to the office area to just take five minutes to himself. Just to not panic in front of other people he tells himself. And to send a message to Cas.

Cas replies within seconds. As if he's been waiting for this. Or as if he's in another park, taking more pictures of flowers and insects, phone already in his hands.

Dean considers it for a second, presses the phone against his chin. Is it bad? Not really. He meant it when he said he wanted everything with Cas. That includes letting people know about them. Still, his stomach is fluttering nervously just from the idea of telling people, that yes, he is indeed in love and Cas is his boyfriend. Or will be.

"Fucking years," Dean hisses to himself and only when he's back working, head again under the hood of some car - what was he even supposed to fix here? - and Bobby grumbling about how he liked him better last week when he obviously wasn't in love and such an idiot, does he realize how stupid this is. And the laugh burst out of him.  
  
God, they're having their first squabble as a couple before they are even officially together. And he's not even actually mad. But just excited. And very much in love.  
  
And when he's sure Bobby isn't looking, he pulls out his phone and makes one quick tweet.

  


He knows Cas will take enjoyment out of seeing it. Especially his appropriate use of emojis. And he's comfortable with this much. No one will probably question this. It's Twitter. He's posted weirder stuff.  
  
When he checks his phone again later, there's - among others - a like from Cas. And another DM.

  


* * *

_Wednesday, 23rd December  
  
_It's noon when Dean realizes that it's literally the day before Christmas and he still doesn't have a present for Cas. He drops his head onto the desk, pushes the documents he's sorting through to the side – Tuesday is his office day and he hates it with a passion.  
  
"Son of a bitch."  
  
In all of the excitement, he just forgot. He's proving to be the worst boyfriend he could be before they're even calling it that. And he can't leave work early today because Bobby was already kind enough to let him have tomorrow off so he can finish preparations for the potluck. And while Dean might be dumb some days, he's not dumb enough to go last-minute Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve of all days. Not that he has even the slightest idea what he should give to Cas. He kind of really doesn't want to buy anything at all if he's honest. But what else could he do?  
  
He gives himself a minute to wallow in self-pity, wracking his brain hard to maybe just maybe find something in his head. It just has to be something Cas mentioned at some point that he'd like to do or where he'd want to go. He can magic something out of that information. He always does.  
  
With a sigh, Dean straightens back up, puts back some order into the files on the desk. He should keep working. He can take an hour or two later to score through some old text conversations and tweets. Maybe something will turn up there.  
  
He's quite certain there will actually and it eases his mind a little, makes it easier to focus back on work and get it done. Though admittedly the question of what to give Cas still never quite leaves his mind.  
  
________  
  
"The hell you still doing here?"  
  
"Hm?" Dean looks up from the invoice he's transferring into their accounting software – Sam's idea after he witnessed how Dean struggled with the physical version – and checks the clock. "It's not even four yet."  
  
"So what?" Bobby shrugs his shoulders. "It's Christmas. Go home, be lovey-dovey elsewhere."  
  
"Ha. Getting sentimental in your old age?"  
  
"Idjit."  
  
Dean smiles, lowers his eyes back to the screen, and tries to continue his work. But he can feel Bobby still starring at him and after a few seconds, he looks back up. "What?"  
  
Bobby shrugs his shoulders. "It's good to see you happy."  
  
Dean could deny it, pretend he's got no idea what he's talking about but the last three days have shown him that he can't keep it contained anyway. So he might as well admit this much, "Well, it's nice to be happy."  
  
"Make sure to keep it that way. And now shoo. I don't want to see you back here until Monday."  
  
"Just let me finish this and I'll-"  
  
"I said scram, boy. I hired you and I can kick you out just as quickly if you don't listen."  
  
Something clicks for Dean then and suddenly he knows exactly what to give Cas for Christmas. It's honestly an awesome idea and it won't even be that difficult to make. He's up, slipping into his jacket in record time and nearly out of the door when he pauses, turns back around, and smiles at Bobby. "You're the best, Bobby."  
  
"Right."  
  
He can hear Bobby grumble some more words to himself before he's out of earshot. Dean makes his way outside, wishing happy holidays to whoever he passes with a little too much vigor. He can't wait to get started on this.  
  
________

* * *

_Thursday, 24th December_

The doorbell rings for the fourth time that night and Dean is so lost in laughter after Eileen's joke, that he automatically moves from the living room to the front door and opens it without even thinking. Without even considering.  
  
He spent most of the day in a slight panic that came and went whenever he was busy enough to actually forget for a hot second that Cas would be here today. And that they'd be seeing each other face to face today for the first time since that phone call and that they would be within touching distance - and that he'd be allowed to touch this time. Technically. A nagging voice at the back of his head keeps reminding him that they won't be alone and that he really doesn't want everybody else to catch on within seconds. That he needs to act normal and keep his shit together.  
  
At some point, he also considered that maybe the past days had been just a continuous fever dream and that it would all come crashing down right about the time when they laid eyes on each other and Cas would not show any reaction at all. And he'd be left looking like an idiot.  
  
Turns out he really didn't have to worry about that.  
  
He freezes mid-laughter, mouth caught open in surprise, and just stares. Because that is Cas. And Jack. But Cas more importantly. And he's looking back at him just as flabbergasted. His cheeks are flushed and Dean can't tell if it's from seeing him or just the cold outside air - they were in the car a minute ago, it can't just be the cold, right?  
  
"Hello," Jack says, raising a hand in greeting and Dean forces his eyes over at him, automatically smiles at the blinding grin on Jack's face.  
  
"It's good to see you." He pulls Jack into a hug, squeezes him as hard as he can, before he steps to the side, lets them inside and into the warmth. God, he missed the kid. "Though you are late."  
  
"The roads were a little busy," Cas says offhandedly, while he hangs up his coat and Dean has to force his eyes away, has to stop himself from letting them linger on the way Cas's button-up hugs his arms oh so nicely. There's laughter from the living room.  
  
"I thought it was because of the pie?" Jack sounds honest to god confused. "Didn't you say it needed more time to be just perfect?"  
  
"How about you go say hello to the others, Jack? I'm sure they are looking forward to seeing you again." Cas sounds strangled and the smile on his face is polite but forced. His cheeks practically as red as the garish Christmas sweater Dean is wearing of his own free will.  
  
"Okay." Jack shrugs his shoulders and disappears into the living room and by the excitement he's met with, Dean knows they have a few minutes left before someone will come looking for them.  
  
"You made pie?" It's the most nonsensical thing he could have said because that was already perfectly clear.  
  
Cas furrows his brows, tilts his head. "Yes? Like I said in the group chat when we discussed who was bringing what."  
  
"Right. I muted that a while ago." Dean feels a nervous laugh bubble out of him. And then they are just staring at each other. He steps closer on autopilot, doesn't quite invade Cas's personal space but comes oh so close to it. Tantalizing almost. Cas doesn't budge just blinks at him.  
  
They should hug, right? Just like they used to. No strings attached but a quick pat on the back here and a squeeze there. It's the most logical thing to do, really. Yet it also seems like the most difficult thing to do.  
  
"Do you-" he stops, has no idea where he's going with the sentence but Cas says, "Yes," nonetheless. And then they're suddenly standing in the kitchen, still too close but not close enough - still blissfully alone - and Dean watches with too much warmth in his chest how Cas unpacks the food he brought from the bag, taking utmost care and Dean knows he will kiss him before the night is over. He wants those hands and all the tenderness and love that comes with them.  
  
"I love you."  
  
It pops out, quiet and innocent enough and Dean doesn't even feel shocked that they came from his own mouth this quickly. He'd knew he'd be the first to crack now that it's already out in the open. And it's so fucking worth it when he sees the way Cas ducks his head, trying to hide the happy little grin on his lips.  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
And then Dean just caves, throws his arms around Cas's shoulders to pull him into an awkward side hug that does nothing but at the same time is everything. Cas stops what he's doing then, places his hands on Dean's arm and turns his head towards him. They're close – noses barely brushing, breath mingling between them – and it'd be the easiest thing to just close the gap. Dean can't keep his eyes from flicking down to Cas's lips and oh. That is a smile he's never seen directed at him. It tugs at something deep inside him and makes him swallow hard.  
  
"Just a few more hours, Dean. That's all. Then we can talk." Cas's voice is firm but the way his fingers dig into his arm now, betrays his calm demeanor. But compared to Dean, he seems to have a lot more self-restraint because he unwraps himself and with one more smile, leaves him standing there all by himself in the kitchen and by the sound of it, makes his way into the living room.  
  
Dean takes another minute to calm his racing heart before he follows.  
  
________  
  
Dinner is chaotic, loud, and happy. There's always somebody talking, laughing. There's some arguing because that's inevitable with their whole group so rarely getting together like this. But it's always good-natured and no one's holding grudges. And there are tears from laughter and even some emotional ones.  
  
The present exchange following dinner is short and methodical this year. Really, it's just the exchange and joking and trying to figure out what the hell is in this weirdly shaped package without actually unwrapping it. Because that's for Christmas morning because this is Dean's potluck, so his rules of no presents before Christmas apply. He really doesn't care if everybody hates him for it, tradition is tradition. He never opens anyone's presents before the 25th, always makes sure to take them home wrapped. It's just how it's supposed to be. And yes maybe it makes it less fun because they can't all laugh at each other's gifts and make fun of them. But there's also no need for embarrassment about emotional reactions or well thought out gifts.  
  
It also means there's a reason to reach out again tomorrow, thanking and talking to each other. It keeps the feeling of not being alone during Christmas alive far longer. Something Dean always appreciates.  
  
Though he figures he might not have to worry about it much longer.  
  
________  
  
"Please drive carefully. And text me when you get home."  
  
Cas's voice rings with worry from the hallway, where he's saying his goodbye to Jack and Dean smiles to himself, continues scrubbing the casserole dish.  
  
"Don't worry. I will."  
  
There's some more murmured conversation that Dean can't quite make out and then the front door clicks shut. While he doesn't stop cleaning, he straightens up a little. Anticipation mostly but also just because he feels more alert again, like all the energy that the evening zapped from him, is slowly but surely returning.  
  
Another Christmas song starts softly playing from the radio on the fridge when Cas steps back into the kitchen. They exchange a look and he wordlessly steps up next to him and picks up a dish towel to start drying the dishes.  
  
They work quietly in unison, bumping into each other ever so often without any need for apologies. It's domestic. Honestly, there's no other way to describe it. It's exactly what he wished for on the weekend - and oh how that feels like an eternity ago already - and it makes Dean's heart swell with warmth and even more love for this man. And despite them both knowing that they need to talk, they don't. Not yet.  
  
When Dean finishes with his part, he steps back, scrubs down the counters, too aware of how he has to move around Cas to reach every part. So he keeps it short and quick and instead pulls himself up onto the kitchen island, watches Cas.  
  
He looks disheveled, tie loosened and top buttons undone and why he still insists on dressing up to these dinners is beyond Dean. He'd be fine in just jeans and a sweater like everybody else. But then again it also makes him Cas and to be fair Dean does take secret joy in it. Loves seeing him put together until he isn't, the flush in his cheeks from the wine Eileen brought not helping, making him look even more indecent. And oh, the places his mind is going again.  
  
Dean bites his lip and continues watching.  
  
When Cas is done, has finally placed the last plate in the cabinet, he drops the towel onto the counter and turns, leans back against it, and meets his eyes.  
  
"I still haven't given you your present," Dean says. His voice feels rough and too loud in the silence. He leans over and pulls it from between a neat stack of bills, found it to be the best hiding place earlier when he panicked about someone else seeing it. It's a simple white envelope, just a simple "Castiel Novak" written on it. He holds it out to him. He tries going for nonchalant, when he says, "You can open it now if you want."  
  
Cas licks his lips, brows furrowed, and takes it. He opens the envelope with too much care and then he's pulling a single piece of paper out, unfolds it.  
  
________  
  
**Employment Offer  
  
**Dear Mr. Castiel Novak,  
  
I am very pleased to offer you the official position of Dean Winchester's boyfriend. This is a full-time position of at least 40 hours a week - specific workdays and hours may vary over time. Your salary will be paid in conversations, cuddles, kisses, and a regular choice during movie nights.  
  
As a full-time employee, you are also entitled to the standard benefits package, including orgasms, homemade food, and free stays at my house. Please plan to begin your work immediately.  
  
If you accept this offer, I would appreciate you signing it with a kiss. If you have any questions regarding this employment, please do not hesitate to contact me.  
  
Kind regards  
Dean Winchester  
  
Encl.  
An "I love you"  
A hopeful "You're not sleeping on the couch, right?"  
  
________  
  
Dean feels the tension in him rise while Cas reads it and when he looks back up there's something on his face that Dean can't quite place. Something new and exciting. He steps closer, right up into his space and right up against him, until he can feel the warmth radiating off him seep through the fabric of his jeans.  
  
"So, you up for that kiss?" Dean says, voice breaking.  
  
It's all it takes and Cas is the first one to move. His hands settle hesitantly, then more firm on Dean's legs – and that is a new feeling – pushing them apart, so he can step between them, step as close as he can. He doesn't know who moves first but suddenly they're kissing, lips pressed to lips and hands clinging, sliding, grabbing desperately onto whatever they can reach. Slipping up Dean's legs and to his back, touching Cas's shoulders and hair. The kiss doesn't last long but it's fueled by years of want and love and frustration. Fueled by "We can have this now" and a little bit of alcohol.  
  
When they part Dean presses his forehead against Cas's and just needs to exist for a second without thinking or doing anything. He can feel his warm breath on his own face and there's a tug of want in his stomach that makes him teeter dangerously close to just taking.  
  
"We should talk," Cas says, voice rough and breathless yet even deeper than usual. It makes Dean shiver. He feels all about sixteen again, nerves on fire from a simple touch, a single kiss. He forces his eyes open, gets caught by the intensity in Cas's eyes, the way there's barely any color left with how huge his pupils are.  
  
"We should."  
  
But neither of them says anything. They just keep looking at each other. Drawn to each other in a way they always have been. Just a little easier because there's no need to hold back anymore. He can have this and he actually has it.  
  
It's pretty awesome.  
  
Cas tugs on him, hands wrapped around his hips, and pulls him off the counter. Dean follows willingly, bumps into him because Cas doesn't move an inch, leaves little to no space for Dean between the counter and his own, firm and oh so warm body. He swallows audibly, can see how Cas's eyes dip down to his lips again. It's so damn tempting. And Dean is a weak man.  
  
He leans in again, drags his hands back up into Cas's hair to tilt his head, deepening the kiss. There's no resistance, just Cas following him. For a second at least before he takes a step back, breaking the kiss and most of their physical contact. He looked disheveled before but now he looks positively wild. Like he's ready to just jump Dean right there in the kitchen. It's written all over his face.  
  
Dean would be one hundred percent okay with that.  
  
So, when Cas reaches for his hand and tugs him along, he follows willingly, no smart words to say, his tongue heavy in his mouth with the simple ideas of what could happen. Except instead of leading him to his bedroom – which Dean somehow expected because how was he supposed to keep his mind out of the gutter after that kiss? - he gets pulled into the living room and forced into an armchair. Cas sits at the end of the couch that's farthest from him, tucking his legs underneath himself and folding his hands over his lap.  
  
He has the decency to look embarrassed.  
  
"I needed-" He clears his throat, cheeks flushed and eyes wide and too earnest. It's a fantastic look on him. "I can't focus with you close."  
  
"You tell me." Dean huffs a laugh, rubs a hand over his face. "I kind of thought we would, you know."  
  
"Go to your room and have sex? Please. I'm not that easy Mr. Winchester."  
  
"Maybe I am." Dean is quickly finding, that seeing Cas's expression slipping into something not so put together, is becoming his favorite new thing. He smirks.  
  
After a second Cas shakes his head and squints at him, mouth turned into a disapproving frown. "Well then be a good boy and keep it in your pants for one night. Might even make it better."  
  
"We've waited years, Cas." He wants it to sound petulant and annoyed but it comes out way too breathy and sounds so not like him. "You think we don't deserve to not wait any longer?"  
  
"I need to hear you say what you want from this, Dean."  
  
"Everything, Cas. Not just movie nights but cuddling and falling asleep on each other. Not just dinner together but real dates. Not just sleeping at each other houses but sleeping right next to you. Not just calling you my friend but my boyfriend as well. Not just being family by choice but creating our own version of family. Not just being in each other's life but spending our lives together. Just everything, you know?"  
  
"You can have that."  
  
"And so can you if you want it." Dean moves before Cas can protest and then he's kneeling on the couch right next to him, grabbing his hands and squeezing them. "But what do you want, Cas?"  
  
"I don't want to be a badly kept secret. I can't do that. Not with you."  
  
"I'd never do that to you."  
  
"Don't be so sure. Being honest with yourself is one thing. But being honest with others, especially family..." Cas trails off, shrugs his shoulders. He looks a little guilty and it makes Dean remember that there are reasons why Cas never talks about his parents. He squeezes his hands.  
  
"Well, most of my family is handpicked, awesome, and not so straight either, so no need to worry about that. And the ones that could be trouble, well, we can work up to that. Together."  
  
"I'd like that."  
  
"Then it's settled, boyfriend."  
  
"Yeah." Cas smiles and it's big and toothy and Dean feels a grin pop onto his own face. "Boyfriend."  
  
"I'm going to kiss you now."  
  
"Please."  
  
It's just a peck, more isn't really an option with how big they're both smiling still. But it's enough for the moment. And instead of pulling away afterwards, Cas drags his nose along Dean's cheek until he can burrow into his shoulder. He sighs heavy and relaxed. "It's good to be home."  
  
"Yeah." Dean untangles their hands and wraps his arms around him, pulling him as close as he can and pressing his face into Cas's hair. And despite the uncomfortableness slowly settling in his body due to their less-than-ideal position, he feels completely content for the first time in a while. He smiles. Home. He likes the sound of that. "It is."  
  
________

**Author's Note:**

> Reblog on [Tumblr](https://mizuirokandeya.tumblr.com/post/637253082179403776/and-why-mess-up-a-good-thing-baby)


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